Dust and Memories
by Reginae Helvetiae
Summary: Human AU. Roderich discovers a letter from his childhood crush and best friend, and decides to get back in touch with him. But Basch's life has been struck by catastrophe, and he doesn't want anything to do with Roderich. Roderich won't take no for an answer. Multichapter, AusSwiss. Hetalia is not mine. T for a little swearing. SwissAus
1. Moving Day

Moving day was never one of Roderich's favorite days. It involved far too much work for the high-nosed aristocrat's taste, and although he could have easily hired someone else to do it for him, he was also very cheap. The man absolutely hated having to sort through the boxes of things that he had to shuffle across the city, and get rid of things that he no longer had need for. He always found painful memories in the paper and dust, memories that he had hidden away with good reason.

The musician was planning to gather his things and move to a new apartment across Vienna, that was a little larger and a little nicer than his previous one. With his music career taking off, he was willing to pay a tiny bit more for the larger kitchen and the easier access to the studio where he composed during the day.

Roderich had also decided to clean out his possessions this time. His home was becoming far too cluttered for his taste, and since he already had to clean out every nook and cranny, he decided their was no better time to get rid of things he didn't need.

He had saved the bookcase for last. It contained most of his composition books and sheet music, all meticulously organized in binders coded by composer, performance, or year. There was little to get rid of in it, he figured, but it was still better to be safe than sorry.

The paper shuffling and rearranging didn't take long, as he had anticipated. Most of it was being kept anyway, so the times he made a move to recycle a sheet of paper were few.

Pleased with his work, he sat back, gazing at the stack of binders and spread of redundant papers around him in a messy pile. He was sure he was done, and it had been relatively painless to boot.

That was until he saw the little leather bound book poking out of one of the unsorted binders.

Curiously, he pulled it out, frowning slightly. How unusual. He didn't remember writing in something like this before. Hell, he didn't even remember the book.

The leather was soft to the touch, and still smelled faintly of the tanning process used to produce it. Brushing the dust from it, he shook his head, flipping the cover open and fanning out the thick pages in search of writing. Blank. They were all hopelessly blank, like his memory of the little journal.

As he reached the last page, something fluttered to the ground at his feet, slightly yellowed with age and flattened by years of being pressed in the book.

Hesitantly, he picked it up, the paper feeling very fragile in his hands. He could see the faint traces of writing on the other side, and surprisingly excited, he unfolded it, only to have his mouth drop open in utter shock.

It was a letter from Basch.


	2. N-O-S-T-A-L-G-I-A

_"_ _Nostalgia. N-O-S-T-A-L-G-I-A. The pain of remembrance."_

 _"Very good, Sebastian," praised the severe looking teacher as the fifth grade boy went to settle back beside his best friend._

 _"_ _That was a little scary," He murmured into the brunette's ear, and Roderich gave him a bright smile, grabbing his hand._

 _"_ _You're doing great!" The brunette encouraged, grinning. "You'll win for sure."_

 _Basch gave him a small, nervous smile as he went up to recite his next word, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes._

 _"Remorse. R-E-M-O-R-S-E. Regret and guilt towards a wrong committed."_

 _The room applauded, and he felt a little numb when the teacher pinned a little blue ribbon onto the pocket of his shirt. Had he just won the Spelling Bee?_

 _The smile on his best friend's face as he tackled him into a hug was all the answer he needed._

Roderich didn't drink often. It wasn't that he couldn't hold his alcohol, or didn't have any friends to drink with. He simply preferred to indulge in other things, such as fine chocolates or good coffee.

But every once in a blue moon, the aristocrat found himself in dire need of some alcohol. Usually, this need struck when he had been hanging around that damned albino, or after a particularly dry lecture in calculus.

Apparently, finding a letter from his long-lost best friend also called for some beer.

The brunette found himself sitting at the kitchen table with a bottle of beer in his hand as he read the letter over and over, full of shock, disbelief, and a sort of bittersweet sadness. What ever happened to that blond hurricane with the eyes like emeralds and a mouth to put anyone in their place? _Oh, Nostalgia._

He had lost touch with him. After fifth grade, they had had a falling out over Roderich's first relationship when he was in sixth grade, with a Spanish boy called Antonio. Basch had seemed uncharacteristically upset when he had told him about it, and they had gotten into a vicious fight that had been the juiciest gossip in mill for days. Roderich winced at the mere thought of it, feeling a sharp pang in his chest. _Remorse._

Three long years went by, and he broke up with Antonio the summer before freshman year of high school, and started to see a pretty Hungarian girl by the name of Elizabeta. She was the one who had first noticed that Basch was at school rather sporadically - four times a week became three, which became once a week, until finally, he stopped coming at all, and nobody seemed to notice.

Once or twice, he had asked people what had happened to the Swiss man, and the response was always the same.

"Who's Basch Zwingli?"


	3. The Phone Call

_"_ _202...555...0139,"_ Roderich murmured as he pressed the corresponding buttons on the landline, double checking the number against the one at the bottom of the letter to make sure he wasn't about to call some poor old woman or something.

He frowned slightly, gazing at the softly glowing "call" button for a few seconds. There were so many ways this could go wrong. What if it didn't even work any more? What if Basch didn't even have this number any more?

He had nothing to lose. Worst case scenario, he didn't reach Basch. Or maybe the worst case scenario would be that he reached Basch, and the blond was still angry with him. He honestly didn't know any more.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and pressed "call," listening to the monotone ringing to distract himself from the way his heart was beating so erratically.

He had almost zoned out until a soft click interrupted the noise, along with a familiar voice that shocked him back to reality.

"Hello, if you're selling something, I'm not interested," came the gruff greeting.

It took a few seconds for Roderich to gather his bearings. It had been so long since he had heard that voice, so blunt and aloof. He hadn't realized just how much he had _missed_ it.

"Hello?" Came the voice again, and Roderich cleared his throat.

"Oh...Uh, hallo Basch," He said, and the other end was silent. He didn't know if it was a good silent, or an angry silent, or even just a neutral silent.

"Roderich."

The Swiss' tone was flat and emotionless, and it did nothing to dispel Roderich's concerns, or help him figure out the blonde's emotions.

"Yes, it's me. I found an old letter of yours in a journal, and I...wondered if the number on it still worked," he explained, feeling more and more awkward by the second as he curled the coils of phone cord around a slender finger.

"Well it does."

"I figured that out," Roderich responded, beginning to detect irritation in his old friend's voice, and...was that hurt?

"Fine. What do you want?" Basch asked, clearly trying to steady his tone.

"What do I want?" He asked. "Must I want something to call an old friend?"

He heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the phone at the word "friend," and instantly, he wondered if calling Basch had been a bad idea.

"We're not friends, and we never were," came Basch's cold reply. "And I suggest that you not call me again."

The call was ended with an abrupt click, and Roderich was left standing with his lips slightly parted, the phone still held to his ear, and Basch's hurtful words ringing in his mind.

 _"_ _We're not friends, and we never were."_


	4. Basch's Letter

_Dear Roderich,_

 _I haven't spoken to you since our fight. It's been three years to the day, and I still remember every word you spat, and every word I didn't mean. I've been trying to figure out how to say this every day since, but foolish pride got in my way. (Not that it has completely moved aside - writing this note to you is still hard for me.)  
Where can I even begin? It hurt a lot to fight with you like that. They say you never know what you have until you've lost it. I thought we were going to be friends forever, but the world is cruel, and pays no regard to the silly promises young boys make. Perhaps we really were not meant to be friends forever. Perhaps our time has come and gone.  
By either token, the years that I spent with you were the best years of my entire life. You made it worth it, getting up in the morning. You were why I wanted to come to school. You were why I strived so hard.  
Even if those years are long gone, and will never return, I will cherish the memories. I always have cherished them.  
My apology to you is long overdue, and most likely unwanted. I was a bad friend to you when I should have been happy for you, and I'm sorry. I am really, really sorry.  
If you are willing to forgive me, here's my number: 202-555-0139.  
If not, then farewell._

 _-Basch_

Perhaps Basch had been too hopeful in writing that letter, but he hadn't wanted to leave Middle School on a sour note with his best friend - after all, he had nobody else other than his sister and his mother. His father had left them the first few months of sixth grade, around the same time he had lost Roderich.

He had been too young to work throughout middle school, so he did his best to help his mother make ends meet by doing yard work for the neighbors, and watching people's pets. The extra earnings he got were enough to supplement his mother's wages as a teacher at the local preschool.

That was until his younger sister became ill.

Lili had always been a sweet girl, doing her best to help out around the house, and still finding time for her schoolwork and friends. She adored her older brother, who was five years her senior, and he doted on her frequently.

It had started when Basch noticed a dark bruise on her arm while braiding her long golden hair for school one morning. Instantly worried, his green eyes narrowed protectively.

"Where did you get that?" He asked, gesturing to it.

The young girl frowned and shook her head in an unknowing gesture. "I don't know. I woke up with it. I promise it wasn't there when I went to bed!"

Lili was never one to lie, so Basch let her off the hook without too much interrogation, assuming she had just bumped into something and forgotten about it.

Then the bruises started to multiply.


	5. Diagnosis

It always stunned Basch, just how few words it required to break someone's world into pieces. Human beings were such delicate creatures. They could take so much, bear the weight of a world, but words could ruin them in seconds.

For him, it was only two words, simple ones, really.

"It's leukemia."

He had had to catch his mother as her knees gave out, and he eased her into one of the fancy chairs made of clear plastic that were nestled along the wall in the room.

He felt his heart break for his sister, getting her blood drawn in the lab for what seemed like the millionth time in the past month. The pale, tender skin of the crook of her arm had gone purple with bruises, and he knew it caused her more pain than she let on through that sweet smile.

He felt his stomach churn for his mother, trying to imagine what was racing through her head at the moment. Her only daughter was gravely ill with a potentially terminal disease, and she could barely keep food on the table for the three of them - the medical bills would ensure that they died of starvation before anything else.

The room they were waiting in was too cheery. The walls were painted a sunny orange, and the cabinets were a gentle white, like an orange creamsicle. A window looked out on a small garden where a plump woman with streaks of grey in her jet black hair was helping her son learn to walk.

The only thing that ruined the effect were the posters of body parts on the walls that covered up the paint, and that the cabinets were full of various supplies and instruments that appeared to be for torture, and the boy outside was in a wheelchair and would never walk again, and that his sweet, precious sister who hadn't a drop of bad blood with anyone was now being poisoned by her own body.

Basch lowered his head and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it all out. He pictured a sheet of white paper, and focused on it as best he could with his mother's soft sobbing and the doctor trying to explain the implications of such a diagnosis.

The paper he was trying so hard to concentrate on was torn in two as the door opened, and Lili came flying into his arms. She smelled like rubbing alcohol and saline solution, but underneath that, he could catch the scent of flowers and her apple shampoo.

She was still Lili. Her hair was still gold and her eyes were still emerald. She still sounded the same when the first sob wracked her familiar, petite frame, and the way she clung to him was the same way she had done for her whole was still her kind, innocent self. She was still his sister, unchanged by this horrific diagnosis.

He had never cried so hard.


	6. Nonno Rome's

_"What do you want to be when you grow up?" Basch and his class had been asked this so many times before, yet it never grew old. "A soldier!" Elizabeta said bravely. "A musician," stated Roderich, with no doubt in his tone. "Awesome!" Gilbert cut in, and the class laughed at the young albino's antics._

 _"What about you, Basch?" The teacher asked pointedly, and the blond looked up from the book he wen't supposed to be reading, blinking._

 _"Oh, me? ...a linguist," he said shyly, and murmurs broke out like wildfires._

 _"What's a lin-goo-ist?" Alfred asked, blue eyes wide._

 _"Oh, um...it means I want to learn lots of languages and translate them," he explained, wishing the attention would be drawn away from him._

 _"That's cool!" Elizabeta piped up, and although he didn't smile, the look in his viridescent eyes was beyond grateful._

"So you know," Basch stated, returning to the present. "I...I wanted to be in Italy or something, not just working my ass off in an Italian bakery from dawn till dusk."

Lovino rolled his eyes across from him. "Welcome to my world. Why are you here, anyway?" He asked skeptically, looking Basch up and down. "You're still in high school."

"I dropped out," he stated plainly. "My mother needed me to work because..." He paused, hesitating. Perhaps it was better not to blurt his situation out at an interview. "...she needed help paying the bills."

There. It was not the whole truth, but it was not a lie, either.

Lovino nodded slowly and shrugged. "You sound credible to me, I couldn't care less whether you want to work here or not. You're hired."

Basch released a breath he didn't even know he was holding and nodded. "Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow."

That was how he ended up working at Nonno Rome's, an Italian bakery on the corner of fifth street and main. It was run by a cheerful man affectionately referred to as Nonno Rome, because "he's as old as Rome itself!"

The man certainly didn't look like it, that was for sure. He was tall and muscular, with dark, curly hair, and unmistakable Italian features. He always seemed to be with at least three women, but Basch had seen him talking to a stoic man with straight blond hair over coffee after the bakery closed.

He ran the bakery with his two grandsons, the happy-go-lucky eldest, Feliciano, and his irritable younger brother, Lovino. Feliciano had gone back to Italy for college, so Nonno Rome had told Lovino to find someone to take over his work.

Basch was pretty sure the lazy man had just gone with the first person to walk through the door.

It wasn't like he was complaining, of course. The job payed well enough, even with the long hours, and he got to take home some of the rejects, so that they would always have some bread of sorts to eat.

He found that he got along surprisingly well with Lovino, even if the Italian man was much more vocal about his detest for the world and everyone in it than Basch was. They talked about work, their futures, and their pasts, but never the present. The present was too hard.

Basch learned Lovino wanted to be an artist and study Greek and Roman classics, but the dark-haired man was convinced his older brother was better.

Lovino also had odd ways of showing that he considered Basch a friend, frequently calling him "cheese bastard," or "chocolate jerk," or on days when he was feeling particularly kind, just "bastard."

For some reason, Basch found the nicknames amusing, even if he wouldn't let it on. They meant he finally had a friend again.


	7. Midnight Messages

Roderich hadn't been able to sleep for a week now. He laid alone in bed at night, staring at the bare walls of his new apartment and wondering what Basch was looking at, before realizing that was silly talk. Basch had never been one to stay up past eleven.

The blond man's final words to him haunted him at these peaceful hours, and he found himself thinking far too much into them.

 _"_ _We're not friends, and we never were."_

Did that mean that all those times Basch had bailed him out of trouble as a child meant nothing? Did that mean that the smiles shared, the laughter that floated to the setting sun, the days spent dancing in the soft spring breeze were all meaningless?

The thought of living such a lie for so many years crushed the aristocrat. He trusted Basch, and still did, with everything he had. The Swiss man had been his friend when he had none, had been his lifeline when he was ready to give up on the world.

What had happened to them? Where were those two children with wide, tender eyes, and hearts brimming with innocence and love?

He had no answer, but the question was enough to keep him up in the dead of night.

In his heart, he knew he had to make peace with Basch, lest he spend his whole life sleepless, dwelling on a question that had no clear answer. But how could he make peace with someone who wanted absolutely nothing to do with him?

The bare wood floor was cool beneath his feet as he slipped out of bed and shuffled slowly towards the phone, picking it up hesitantly and gazing at the scrap of torn paper that rested beside it, where he had hastily scribbled his former friend's number in blue ink.

He filled his lungs with a deep breath of air as he pressed the softly glowing numbers on the landline, and finally pressed the call button. He knew Basch wouldn't pick up (it was two in the morning, after all,) but he wanted to make peace. Perhaps it would be easier if he didn't have to talk to the grumpy Swiss man.

The phone rang for a while, and he waited until he heard the voicemail.

"Hello, you've reached the Zwingli family. We can't get to the phone right now, so please leave a message, and we'll get back to you."

Roderich waited for the soft beep that followed, and cleared his throat before beginning to speak.


	8. Basch's Problem

"I can't believe him!" Basch snapped, throwing the bread dough down onto the flour-sprinkled table, and Lovino looked up from where he was brushing eggwash onto some challah bread.

"What's your problem?" The italian asked, arching a brow.

Basch wasn't one to rant to people. He prefered to keep things to himself, and often pushed anyone who tried to help him away. But his irritation towards Roderich, worry about his sister, and confusion about his own muddled feelings had reached a fever pitch, and he needed to blow off steam.

"I had a friend once-" he began, and Lovino snorted.

"Really?"

Basch shut him up with a glare and continued. "We fell out during middle school, and then he went to some prissy-ass highschool, and I tried to forget about him. The other day, he just called me out of the blue, and I told him to fuck off. This morning, I woke up to a message from him! A goddamned message!" He snapped as he aggressively kneaded the bread dough.

Lovino frowned. "Why don't you just ignore it?" He asked pointedly, and Basch scowled.

"Because I can't get the asshole out of my fucking head!"

A smirk curled the Italian man's lips up, and Basch frowned, brows furrowing. "Quit looking at me like that, what's with you today?"

"Sounds to me like the cheese bastard's got himself a crush."

The messages continued every morning, and for the first week or so, he complained to Lovino about them, still angry with Roderich for leaving him alone for years, and for the aristocrat's putting his dating life before Basch.

But as the weeks went on and the messages multiplied, the blond man found himself looking forward to waking up in the morning. Roderich always had something new to tell him, and even if he couldn't bring himself to respond, he hoped he would somehow feel his nonverbal approval.

It was nice to hear his voice again.


	9. The Bathroom Floor

It had been a long day at work for Basch. He had had to deal with a horribly demanding woman who had brought in her pack of six noisy children who both dirtied the display glass and vomited on the floor, and guess who had had the honor of cleaning all of that up once they were gone?

He sighed, hanging up his coat at the door and pushing his disheveled hair from his eyes. Damn, he needed a shower and ssome sleep.

He would never forget the sight of his sister's delicate form twisted on the bathroom floor.

Lili was on her side in a pool of water, clearly having just gotten out of the shower. Her wet golden hair was sprayed around her face in a fragmented halo, framing her parted lips and closed eyes. A worn green bath towel was wrapped around her frail, bruised body.

She was still breathing, Basch could tell that much. He knew better than to try to move her, but it was hard to get up and leave her crumpled on the cold tiles as he raced to their only landline to call emergency services.

"Hello? Operator? Please, it's my sister, she's got leukemia, and she's on the bathroom floor and I-"

"Sir, please calm down," came the response. "Give me your location and I'll dispatch an ambulance."

The paramedics had to peel her limp form from his arms to get her on the stretcher, and when he rose to follow, one of them held him back, a muscular blond man with icy blue eyes. When he spoke, his voice had the unmistakable, harsh trill of a German accent.

"Where are your parents?"

"My mother has the late shift," He responded quickly. "Please, I can't-"

"I'm sorry," the German man responded, "but we can only take legal guardians or parents."

When they were gone, Basch dipped his head and sank to his knees on the floor, eyes squeezing shut as he fought his tears. He was sick with worry for his beloved sister, and had no way of getting to her until his mother got home.

Unless…

It was a long shot, but it was his only chance.


	10. Hospital Rooms

It had been a long day for Roderich. He had gotten up before the sun to make it to the recording studio for the ungodly time slot the orchestra had scheduled, and had played all day with only one break for lunch. Needless to say, he was ready to be home.

He had not yet showered, but he had eaten, and was wrapped up in a blanket in the corner of the couch with a book in his hands. He hadn't had much leisure time since the move, and he was savoring the little bit of peace he had.

That was until the phone rang, jolting the musician from his own world. Quirking a brow, he untangled himself from the blanket and set his book down after carefully marking his page. Who would be calling at this time? He wasn't expecting anyone…

The number on the softly glowing screen of the landline shocked him to his core.

It was Basch.

Instantly, worries flooded his mind, and he felt himself jump to the worst possible conclusions. What if it was Lili, or Ms. Zwingli, telling him that Basch was dead? What if they had been attacked? What if Basch was sick?

Taking a deep, steadying breath in hopes to decrease the adrenalin, he picked up the phone. What he heard on the other end was completely unexpected.

He could hear tears in Basch's gruff voice.

"Roderich?" The Swiss asked, clearing his throat in a futile attempt to make his throat sound less hoarse.

"I'm here, Basch."

Fifteen minutes later, Roderich had picked Basch up in his sleek black Lexus, and they were zipping to the hospital as fast as the speed limit would allow. Basch didn't speak to him or look at him, gazing intently at his hands folded in his lap. It wasn't a malicious silence, or a cold silence. It was a silence full of worry, like the eerie quiet that follows a hurricane.

Every once in a while, Roderich would steal a brief glance at the man beside him, wondering just what kind of desperation had driven the normally stubborn man to give him a call. Whatever it was, Roderich wanted to soothe it away from him.

The silence between them was only broken when Basch asked the cheery blonde woman at the front desk for his sister's room. She looked it up, and directed them with a beaming smile, though her sharp, catlike eyes followed them to the elevator.

They hurried through the stark, clean halls to Lili's room, and Basch didn't even knock, bursting into the room, before stopping so suddenly that Roderich ran into him.

Lili was laying on her back in a hospital bed. A mask covered the lower half of her face, and the many tubes branching off of it made it look like a monster of some sort. An IV was connected to the pale, near-translucent skin of her arm with a snakelike tube.

She looked so frail… Her hair, once bright gold, was like patchy corn husks about her pallid, sallow face, and her already small form was almost skeletal.

Roderich caught Basch as he sank to the floor, and gently guided him to the small bay window overlooking a garden cloaked in night, where they sat together, and Roderich allowed Basch to weep into his shoulder for the first time in eight long years.


	11. Kiss Me

Nothing could have prepared Lili for what she would wake up to. The first thing she noticed was that she was not in her room at home. The lights were too bright, and the walls in her room were pale green, not stark white. Panic began to paralyze her limbs. Had she been kidnapped?!

All she remembered was feeling weak, so very weak, and going to take a shower. After that, she was in darkness. Barely conscious, she turned her head very slightly to the window, half-lidded, virident eyes widening at what she saw.

There was her brother, tucked up against the side of a very familiar brunette man, who had his arm around the smaller blond's thin shoulders. Basch seemed to be asleep, with long, thick lashes resting against his tear-stained cheeks. His breaths were slow and steady, and she was about to close her eyes again when he opened his.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, his voice slightly husky from lack of use. The man next to him chuckled and shook his head.

"No, i'm sorry. I really messed up, putting my dating life before my best friend. I paid for it, in the end," he said quietly, and Basch averted his gaze, eyes on the man's chest rather than his tanzanite eyes.

"I didn't mean it when I said we weren't friends," he mumbled. "I was just startled, and your voice opened a box of hurt that I never wanted to see again. But...I kind of liked getting your messages."

Gently, Roderich slipped a long finger beneath Basch's chin, and the petit blond looked up again, slightly startled. "I was never angry at you for hating me. I...I missed you," Roderich murmured.

Basch was getting lost in his fathomless eyes, where he could read all the years he had been gone. He saw raw hurt, grief, and affection, all braided together to be one emotion - hope.

"I missed you too," Basch murmured quietly, only then noticing how close their faces were.

Lili felt happiness bloom in her frail chest when she saw Roderich dip his head, and Basch tilt his up, and their silhouettes in the window looked briefly like one being when they kissed.

It was only for a second, because at the very moment they had chosen to kiss each other, the door burst open to reveal Basch and Lili's frantic mother, and they jumped apart as though scalded. She giggled hoarsely at their crimson cheeks, and Ms. Zwingli's surprised expression at seeing her son and his former best friend kissing.

"Hello Mutti, Basch, and Roderich. I'm going to be okay."


	12. Two Years Later

"Basch, are you ready to go?"

The blond looked up from the newspaper he was reading, stuffing the last of his breakfast in his mouth and getting up to open the door of his family's new apartment for his boyfriend.

It had been two years since Lili's diagnosis, and had been cancer-free for four months now. During those two years, Roderich and Basch had been dating, Basch had finished high school, Roderich's orchestra had won international fame, and both of them had gotten into the same college on good scholarships.

Basch's mother had gotten a good job managing a nice restaurant, and she had taken the money from that to get them a better apartment. They didn't have to worry about keeping food on the table now, and Roderich had kindly helped them cover some of Lili's medical bills. Life was finally sorting itself out for the Zwingli family.

"G'mme sec," he told him through the toast, and Roderich tisked, affectionately wiping a stray crumb from Basch's mouth.

"Don't talk with your mouth full."

The blond rolled his green eyes and swallowed, tossing his textbooks into his bag. "Lili, we're leaving!" he called.

The girl dashed out from her bedroom, still wearing pajama pants, and threw her arms around her big brother, who hugged her back in his own awkward way.

"See you later," the eighth grader murmured, and he nodded, gently stroking her barely chin-length hair as he pulled away. When it had started to grow back after chemotherapy, she had decided that she liked it short, and would keep it that way. Both Basch, and Emil, a boy from Lili's class, thought it looked good on her.

"I'll be home at 4 o'clock today," Basch told her. "Roderich and I are going to lunch at Nonno Rome's. Lovino's back from art school in Spain for the week, and wants to meet Roderich." The man in question squirmed uncomfortably, but Lili gave him a beaming smile.

"Don't worry, Roderich, Lovino's really nice once you get to know him," she promised, giving the brunette a quick hug and shooing both of them out the door.

"Have a good day, you two!" she called as they left, and Basch felt a small smile curve his rosy lips upwards when Roderich took his hand.

Sometimes, one doesn't realize what they need until it's right in front of their face. It's so easy to look past things so obvious they hurt, until something forces one to look at the world in a new light. These deep, hidden needs are often found in places one least expects them to be, buried in attics full of dust and memories.


End file.
